Finding Your Way
by TitansRule
Summary: After the Battle of Manhattan, Peggy and Steve go home to Brooklyn and set about rebuilding what was lost. Sequel to 'A Whole New World' (Avengers). NOW COMPLETED. THE SEQUEL IS YET-TO-BE-DETERMINED.
1. Chapter 1

**I am planning on covering Winter Solder, but I don't know if that's this story. It might be the next one. We'll see how this unfolds. This might be a short fluffy tale, which I doubt anyone's going to complain about. So saying, the tags/characters may well be added to.**

 **Also, I am aware I didn't include Agent Carter in The Ones Left Behind. There is a revised version being written, which does bring in some of the characters. So basically, assume that Season 1 happened while Howard and Peggy were trying to start SHIELD and that Season 2 didn't happen at all.**

* * *

The motorcycle raced through the city and, as it left Manhattan and headed into Brooklyn, Peggy felt the tension in Steve's shoulders shift – not disappear, but change as they left the destruction behind and joined the icy nostalgia of his childhood home. Setting her mouth near his ear, she gave him gentle directions, skirting around the outskirts of the borough to the suburbs, and then past the end of the road to a small house tucked away out of sight.

"Alright, this is it." She said finally, patting him on the shoulder.

Steve brought the bike to a stop alongside an SUV and she dismounted, rummaging in her purse for her house keys.

"How long have you lived here?" Steve asked.

"Since this house was pretty much in the middle of nowhere." Peggy answered with a smile. "That neighbourhood we passed is only about fifty years old." She unlocked the front door, showing him inside. "But this has been here …"

"Forever." Steve finished with a grin. "When I was little, my lungs wouldn't …" he trailed off with a sigh, staring at the photograph on the wall at the bottom of the stairs. "Why?"

Peggy slipped off her shoes and hung her jacket up. "Why what?"

"Why that photo?" Steve asked, a little petulantly.

"I wanted a picture of my best guy." Peggy said with a shrug. "Is that so surprising? Jacket."

"But it's a really bad one." Steve said, handing her his jacket.

"It's not my fault there's no other pictures of you before the serum." Peggy said, hanging his jacket up beside hers.

"So why not use one after the serum?" Steve asked.

"Oh, I have those." Peggy said with a smile. "But _that_ 's the guy I fell in love with. And my job … it's difficult, Steve. Sometimes, my job is impossible, and some days, I get out of bed wondering how I have the strength to go into work and keep fighting." She tucked her arm through his, resting her head on his shoulder. "And then I come down here, and I look at your face, and I remember how hard you fought for what was right, even when it was nearly impossible – and it always gave me the strength to keep going. Shoes."

Steve blinked, startled. "Pardon?"

Peggy's smile widened. "Take your shoes off."

"Oh, right, of course." Steve said, bending down to undo them.

Peggy watched him fondly. It was a habit he had never broken, treating his clothes like precious silk. It harked back, she supposed, to the days when his mother had to scrimp and save for each article. It also tended to disappear when there was a fight to be had.

"Come on." She said. "I'll put the kettle on."

Steve followed her into the kitchen. "Did it really help that much?"

"It did." Peggy said. "And don't say you don't understand – you kept that picture in your compass for a reason."

Steve ducked his head with a smile, his eyes travelling around the kitchen. She couldn't help noticing that he seemed far more at ease here than in his stuck-in-the-forties apartment or ultra-modern Stark Tower.

"What were you saying about the house?" She asked.

Steve refocused his attention on her. "Well, when I was little, before Mom died, when my lungs were bad, she would try to take me out for walks when she could, but she always thought the air in the city was bad for me, so she used to bring me further out here where the air was cleaner."

"Smart woman." Peggy commented. "Given that most doctors were still of the opinion that cigarettes were good for your lungs."

"We used to walk past this house." Steve said. "At least, I think it was this house. If not, it was one _very_ similar. Mum used to say that if she ever had the money, that's where she'd want to live."

Peggy raised an eyebrow. "Well, what are the chances?" The kettle whistled and she rose to tend to it. "I found it on a walk – Howard helped me out. I paid him back of course."

"Where did you live before?" Steve asked.

"Well, first I shared a bedsit with a girl named Colleen." Peggy answered. "She was a sweetheart – we had one bed, but she worked nights and I worked days, so we used to trade off. She didn't know what I did though, and I …" She faltered. "This was before SHIELD, and I was trying to … I had to bring my work home with me one night. She'd stayed home because she was sick and … I was in the bathroom, I heard this noise and when I walked out, a man attacked me. He'd followed me home. I fought him off, but Colleen …"

"She knew." Steve finished.

"I wish." Peggy whispered. "She was dead, Steve. He killed her."

Steve rose as well, rounding the table to embrace her. She set the kettle down and leaned back against his chest. Even after all those years, the guilt sat in her chest just as vividly as when she'd looked down on Colleen's body.

"And then," she said, her voice only trembling slightly, "I moved into a boarding house for unmarried ladies. The only problem was the matron was under the impression that I would stay until I found a husband and, since I wasn't intending on doing that any time soon, I needed to get out. So I asked Howard for help and we found this place."

Steve kissed the side of her head and released her so she could finish making tea. "Well, it's exactly the sort of place I would have imagined you living in, back in the war."

"Oh?" Peggy asked, handing him a mug and leading him into the living room so they could sit in comfort. "Did you imagine you'd be here beside me?"

"Sometimes." Steve admitted. "Sometimes I just found it a miracle that you even looked twice at me. Especially before."

Peggy shook her head. "Steve, I seriously pity any woman who had a conversation with you for more than a few seconds and _didn't_."

Steve smiled – a smile she recognised as one that humoured her – and changed the subject. "What made you choose the boarding house before here, then? I'd have thought you'd hate that kinda place."

The Brooklyn was coming out – their discussion had touched a nerve. For now, she would concede. "Oh, I did hate it. With a passion, actually. Mrs Fry was a rather stern woman and, while the other girls were nice enough, they were all frightfully … unlike me. Except Angie." A smile crossed her face, unbidden. "Angela Martinelli was a waitress when I met her, but she wanted to be an actress. Her neighbour had just married and she talked me into taking the room."

"I recognise that name." Steve said, frowning slightly.

"You might." Peggy agreed. "She did make it as an actress in the end. Swanned off to Hollywood. But we always kept in touch. She was the only person outside SHIELD and the Howlers, before Pepper, who knew the truth."

"Is she still …?" Steve asked, trailing off as though he wasn't sure how to finish.

"She's still alive." Peggy said with a nod. "She's in a nursing home in Manhattan. I'll have to take you to visit, she'll be so happy."

"I can't wait." Steve said sincerely and she beamed at him, tucking her feet up underneath her to settle against his side.

It was a quiet moment, all the more precious for its rarity. During the war, quiet moments were scarce and, even then, they were often fraught.

Peggy didn't count the evening the spent in the bar after Bucky's death as a quiet moment, but there _was_ a moment, tucked away close to her heart, six months earlier.

A moment of peace and calm between missions and meetings and debriefs, brought about by chance more than design, when he brought some papers by her office and met her quiet reflection on what was starting to feel like an uphill struggle with an all-encompassing hug.

She had melted into his arms more readily than she would have liked to admit at the time.

She felt no shame about it now – Steve's hugs were something unique; whether it was because she loved him, or because of the strength in his arms, or because they both came from a time when physical contact was something to be cherished, she didn't know.

Today, though he would never admit it, it was him that needed comfort. He was shivering ever so slightly in her arms, although the room was more than warm enough.

"Now that we have time," she said softly, "how are you handling it?"

"The invasion?" Steve asked.

"No." Peggy said, then paused. "Well, yes, I suppose. But I was thinking more along the lines of crashing a plane and missing sixty seven years."

"I'm fine." Steve said, almost immediately.

Peggy sighed. "Darling, contrary to popular belief, you are still human. _No one_ can go through what you did and come out the other side 'fine'."

"Well, I did." Steve said.

Peggy set her cup down and sat up so she could twist to face him. "You've barely slept since you woke up. That apartment looked like it was stuck in the forties, so you were constantly going from one decade to another, like shock baths. The heating was lousy; then again, you're shivering now, so that may not have helped. And I bet if I check your file, you haven't so much as glanced at a psychiatrist."

Steve's gaze dropped. "You think I need one?"

"It's different now, Steve." Peggy said, her voice gentle. "Most soldiers return from combat with some sort of shell-shock – they call it post-traumatic stress disorder now. And those that say they didn't are almost all lying. We see things in combat that no human should have to see. And you've got a _huge_ culture shock on top of that. Hell, it's only been – what – five weeks since you lost Bucky?"

Steve flinched, nodding.

"So you have to factor that in as well." Peggy finished, liberating him of his tea before his grip broke the mug (it certainly wouldn't be the first time). She settled into his lap, gently guiding his head into the crook of her neck. "It doesn't need to be a psychiatrist, darling, but please talk to _someone_."

"Where would I find someone who understands?" Steve asked hopelessly, and she tightened her arms around him.

"Me." Peggy whispered, pressing a kiss to his head. "Talk to me, Steve. Trust me."

Steve took a shuddering breath, his arms looping around her waist to hold her tightly. "I didn't want to die, Peggy. Everyone seems to have this idea that I took the plane down because I'd lost the will to live or something, because Bucky was gone and he was all I had for so long, but I had people … I had the Howlers and I had you and …"

Her collar was beginning to get a little damp, but she disregarded it, stroking his hair in silence.

"I wanted to come home to you, Peggy – if I thought for a second that there was some other way, I would have done that instead. I need you to know that." Steve hesitated. "You did know that, right?"

Peggy was silent for a second, contemplating her answer. "Yes." She said finally, because she had seen it in his eyes so many times.

Because she _had_ been worried about his self-preservation with Bucky gone – because she had had to steal a plane for him to reduce the chances of him getting himself killed _rescuing_ Bucky, so what the hell would he do to _avenge_ him?

Because half the reason she took a chance and kissed him, right in front of Phillips, was to remind him that, even without his brother, he had something – someone – to come home to.

And she had seen it in his eyes, after they parted. A love and a determination strong enough to be an oath, so she took it as one, carrying it close to her heart until it lay shattered on the floor of a radio room with nothing but static surrounding her.

"Yes," she said with more certainty. "I did know. But the thing about time, is it makes you think. Sometimes, you think more than you should. So I won't lie and tell you it didn't cross my mind once or twice that maybe I wasn't enough to live for."

Steve raised a tear-stained face and kissed her hard. He kissed her until they couldn't breathe, until their lips were swollen, until she knew with every fibre of her being, as surely as she knew her own name …

"You have always been enough." He murmured into the silence between them. "You have always been more than enough. I told you I needed to believe that I'd come home to tell you how much I love you, I _wanted_ to come home. But the water was so much colder than I thought and I … I couldn't move, Peggy, I was trying, but it was like my entire body seized up and I couldn't breathe … I tried to fight, I did …"

"I know you did, darling." Peggy whispered, her forehead resting against his. "I know you fought, I would believe nothing less of you."

"And then I woke up …" his voice faltered.

Peggy slipped off of his lap and settled into the corner of the couch, coaxing him to lie down in her arms. He went willingly, curling up in a ball it seemed impossible that he could form. His head rested on her chest, her heartbeat soothing him in the same ways his had her.

"And then you woke up." She repeated. "And SHIELD turned out to be a bunch of morons."

"Yeah." Steve agreed quietly.

Peggy sighed, stroking his hair. "I'm so sorry, my love. If I'd known how badly it would be handled, I would have come home myself."

"At least the children were saved." Steve said.

Peggy smiled, pressing a kiss to his head. "True."

"I don't like sleeping." Steve whispered, as though speaking any louder would cause the words to turn into weapons. "I'm afraid that I'm going to miss another seventy years."

Peggy's arms tightened around him. "I did think that might be it. Does it help when I'm there?"

Steve hesitated and she smiled.

"Trust me, remember?" She said lightly. "I'm not going to do anything I don't want to do."

"Yes." Steve admitted, a little ashamedly. "I can't imagine that. I mean …"

"I know." Peggy said soothingly. "Your eyes and ears can trick you sometimes. Touch is far harder to fool. I wasn't planning on banishing you to the guest room anyway." She tangled her fingers with his and he squeezed her hand. "Did having something familiar help? That apartment wasn't helping anyone, admittedly, but did it do _anything_?"

"You were right about the constant culture shifts." Steve said. "It _was_ disconcerting. I'd wake up and be able to convince myself that it was just a dream, and then I'd open the blinds or leave the apartment and …"

Peggy winced.

"But it did help having a touchstone." Steve admitted. "When everything got a little too … overwhelming. This is better." He added, glancing around the living room.

"It's not futuristic." Peggy agreed with a smile. "I like to have a touchstone as well." She nudged him. "But if you really want a touchstone, I can help with that."

Steve caught on to her intentions and sat up, allowing her to stand. "You already are."

Peggy pulled him to his feet and kissed him chastely. "Come on. I want to show you something." She led him upstairs and then up the little staircase into her attic.

"Do I want to know about the blankets?" Steve asked.

Peggy glanced at the nest in the middle of the floor. "Oh, this is Clint's room when he stays. I have tried to coax him into the guest room, but he insists he's more comfortable up here. I may," she added wryly, "have managed to sort of adopt him."

"I thought there was more to it." Steve said, stepping closer to her. "Are you okay? After … everything?"

"I'm fine." Peggy assured him. "He's okay. He'll probably swing through here whenever he and Nat get back from … wherever they've gone." She moved a couple of dust-covered boxes to reveal two boxes, devoid of dust, sitting in a clear space on the floor. "Go on."

Steve looked puzzled, but stepped forward to open one of the boxes, pulling out a military dress uniform. "This … Is this mine?"

"Well, it's not mine." Peggy said with a grin.

"They're not dusty." Steve commented, looking at the boxes.

"Well, that's because I come up here when I miss you." Peggy admitted, sinking to the floor beside him. "Be careful with those," she added, when he lifted out one of the sketchbooks. "I've only ever looked through the ones you left lying around, but the paper is starting to get a little fragile."

"Why didn't you look through all of them?" Steve asked, pulling out one particular sketchbook that he had always kept either on his person or under lock and key.

"If you left them lying around, you were practically inviting us to look." Peggy answered. "The others are private. I wouldn't read your diary or your journal, so why would I look through those?"

"I drew you a lot." Steve said. "Does that offend you?"

"Certainly not." Peggy said immediately. "Considering how you feel about me, I'd be insulted if you didn't."

Steve smiled at her and tucked her against his side, opening the sketchbook she had never even glanced at. "You're not just anyone. I don't mind if you see them."


	2. Chapter 2

They sat and reminisced for what felt like hours, until the natural light shining through the window began to fade.

Peggy glanced at her watch. "Will you be alright for a few minutes? I'm going to go and order some food."

"Are you sure?" Steve asked a little dubiously. "I mean, if your metabolism is anything like mine …"

"It is." Peggy said with a smile. "And that's _why_ I'm ordering. If I'm going to cook for an army, I need to start earlier in the day. I'll order pizza." She got to her feet. "Deep dish okay?"

She managed to keep a straight face, even when Steve looked up at her with an expression of great offence on his face. "That's … not pizza."

Peggy finally cracked a smile. "Relax, I was kidding. I'll get your traditional New York thin crust instead. Any topping preference?"

"I hear they do a lot more now," Steve said. "So could you pick?"

Peggy nodded. "Yeah, of course. I'll go and dig out the menu."

She flicked on the attic light as she left, jogging down to the kitchen and rooting through the bottom drawer for the pizza menu.

It was an old menu and it was going to be a large order, so she forewent the website in favour of calling them.

" _Marco's Pizzaria, can I take your order?"_

"Yes, hello," Peggy said. "Can I order one large pizza in every topping?"

There was a pause, then …

 _"Is that one pizza with everything, or separate pizzas with each topping?"_

"Latter." Peggy said with a grin. "How many would that make?"

 _"Just regular menu combinations?"_ There was another pause while the server counted up. _"Eighteen, ma'am."_

"In that case," Peggy said, "can I also order one of every side … do you still do those spicy chicken bites?"

 _"Yes, ma'am, we do."_

"Two of them please."

 _"Is this a prank call?"_

Peggy chuckled. "No, I'm just feeding a lot of people."

It wasn't technically a lie – she and Steve, between them, had the metabolism of at least eight regular adults. Combine that with the emotional upheaval from the last few days and the relatively small amount of food they had eaten in the meantime, and she needed to cater for about twenty.

She gave the server her address and hung up, checking her purse to make sure she had enough to pay for the pizza and give a decent tip.

Her old record player caught her eye as she passed by the living room on her way back upstairs and she doubled back to poke at it dubiously.

She hadn't used it in years, not since Tony had helped her digitise all her old records. She had a playlist on her StarkPod (because Tony's godmother could _not_ get away with Apple products, even if Stark Industries hadn't begun to compete with Apple commercially yet). But they didn't sound the same.

The record player was dusty and a little scratched, and she wiped it off as best she could, before setting one of the records that had somehow survived from the 1940s.

It stuttered a little but miraculously began to play, soft familiar music wafting through the living room.

Peggy smiled and headed back upstairs to collect Steve. On a whim, she ducked into her bedroom and rifled through her closet. She couldn't remember what had happened to it, but …

 _Aha!_

With a triumphant grin, she pulled a red dress from the back of the closet.

The doorbell rang just as she was fluffing her hair around her shoulders.

"Steve! Dinner's here!"

Peggy hurried downstairs and opened the door on to a pile of pizza boxes. "Good evening."

"Evening," a muffled male voice said from behind the boxes. "Who ordered the entire menu?"

Peggy laughed, effortlessly taking the boxes and setting them on the side. "Thanks, how much to I owe you?"

The delivery boy – barely nineteen, she could see now – gave her a figure utterly disproportionate to the number of people eating.

Peggy counted out the payment, added a number of bills on top of it and handed it all to the kid at the door. "Keep the change."

He grinned at her. "Thank you, ma'am. Have a good party."

"We will, thanks." Peggy shut the door and carried the pizzas through to the living room, setting them on her old sideboard and opening the boxes.

The scent of eighteen different pizzas wafted over her and her stomach growled loudly.

"How many did you order?" Steve asked from the doorway.

"One of everything," Peggy answered, pulling a slice free and pausing momentarily to fight with the cheese. "Pizza hasn't really changed since the 40s but the variety has. Also we have one of every side as well, so help yourself."

She didn't hear him move, so she turned to look at him. He was watching her with a strange expression on his face. "Uh oh," she murmured, setting her pizza to one side. "Was the dress a bad idea?"

"No!" Steve said hastily. "God, no, Peggy, you look amazing, just … Is that the same dress?"

Peggy smiled, spinning around so the skirt flared around her thighs. "Yes, it is. I was going to wear it when we went dancing and … Well, here we are."

"Here we are," Steve agreed quietly.

"And you are far too maudlin for a man surrounded by pizza," Peggy said with a smile. "Now come and eat?"

By the time they had both conceded defeat there were still several pizzas left.

"I think you over-ordered," Steve commented.

Peggy smiled. "No, I knew what I was doing. The only thing better than pizza is leftover pizza for lunch the next day."

Steve laughed, helping her gather up the boxes. "Excellent plan, Agent Carter."

"I am rather known for those," Peggy said, setting the leftover pizza in the refrigerator. "And speaking of excellent plans," she added, pushing the door shut, "you owe me a dance, Captain."

Steve gamely followed her back into the living room, where she dimmed the lights and turned the music up a little. She turned around just in time to see his face light up. "I know this song."

Peggy smiled, holding her hands out to him. "You're lucky I could find it – most of my old records are on my StarkPod. This sounds better."

"It really does," Steve said, taking her hands.

His own were trembling and she stepped into his chest, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "Relax," she murmured. "Put your right hand on my waist."

As she talked him through the steps of a dance that she herself had not danced in years, he slowly relaxed. He learned quickly, as she knew he would, and soon she was spinning around a makeshift dancefloor, both of them relishing in a second chance they very nearly never got to see.

Even super-soldiers tire, however; physical and mental exhaustion slowly caught up with them and Peggy spun back into his arms to be held tightly in a gently approximation of a waltz.

"And you didn't step on my toes," she said softly.

Steve chuckled, the sound reverberating through her. "You're a very good teacher."

Peggy tilted her head back to look up at him. Without her heels on – even the low heels in her boots – the height difference was even greater. "And you are an excellent student. However, I think saving the world gives us an excuse to save dancing the _whole_ night away for another night."

Steve heaved an overdramatic sigh. "I suppose that would be for the best."

Peggy laughed and slipped out of his arms to turn the record player off. "Come on, my love. Hopefully, tomorrow will be quiet and we can spend the whole day recovering from Manhattan."

Even as she said it, she should have known that she was practically inviting Tony to call her at five o'clock the next morning.


End file.
